


at least we had it for a moment

by elegantidler



Series: orange blossoms [2]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Acceptance, Emotional, M/M, Mild Self-Loathing, Persia, Trans Character, Trans Erik, Trans Male Character, mild internalized transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24908746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantidler/pseuds/elegantidler
Summary: More Mazandaran kisses, but more emotional this time
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/The Persian
Series: orange blossoms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802401
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	at least we had it for a moment

**Author's Note:**

> A follow up to the events in 'orange blossoms'  
> (not relevant, but they're still in Barforush doing shifty things for the shah)

Erik has spent a lot of time in his life wondering which is worse, his dead, skull-like face or his body that is so unlike the bodies of other men.

In his life, both have caused him nothing pain. Both have kept him so far from the life he so desperately desires.

Raheem has seen his face since that night in the garden.

(Their first kiss.)

His eyes had gone wide in shock but he did not flee, and afterwards, he had still leaned forward to kiss Erik’s hideous face.

No one had ever done that before.

But still, he has yet to see his body.

Raheem has said he would wait as long as Erik needed to do anything more than kiss. He has probably assumed that Erik’s body was like his face, simply ugly and skeletal, and Erik does not have the courage to correct him.

Try as he might, Erik cannot understand Raheem’s feelings at all. He does not understand how this man, this good man, who has been so averse to the death and bloodshed that has stained this place, can look at a monster like him and still be gentle towards it when everyone else has hit it, or screamed, or fled from it.

His brain tells him to be wary, thinks he should remember his past experiences. He knows exactly what kind of pain will come at the end of all this, has experienced it over and over again. He knows that when Raheem sees what he truly is, he will laugh and leave him, or worse.

But his heart will not listen. It shines so brightly in his chest and flutters at every touch. It now sings in a language he has never known before. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in Raheem’s kisses, wants to touch every part of him and feel Raheem’s touches on him in return.

And against his brain’s better judgement and lifetime of experience, his heart is winning the battle because for reasons Erik cannot understand, Raheem it still here, still smiling at him, still kissing him.

No matter how much Erik keeps dragging his heels, Raheem keeps patiently waiting for him, seemingly content to move as slow as Erik needs. He makes Erik tea, despite his frustrations with the samovar, he listens to his stories about Nizhnii Novgorod with wonder and laughter, and through it all he presses endless kisses to Erik’s lips. 

And Erik wants to give and take and receive so much more than this.

He who has only ever been merely tolerated by others wants so desperately to reach out and seize the love that is being offered, despite all his fears of being burned.

* * *

Tonight.

He will do it tonight.

Tonight he will take his soul from the safety of its deep dark hiding place within him and show it to Raheem.

He will take the love that is being given to him and give his own in return.

Even if it kills him.

He is so tired of being at war with himself.

* * *

The night mirrors the night of their first kiss.

The air is warm, the scent of orange blossoms heavy on the breeze.

Raheem is already sitting in the garden when Erik comes outside and sits down next to him.

_Don’t think, just do._

Erik takes a deep breath and takes the plunge.

Without saying anything, he takes Raheem’s hand and pulls it towards him, placing it on the slight swell of his currently unbound chest, heart pounding, eyes squeezed shut.

 _Please understand,_ he think desperately, _please don’t make me say the words. Please accept my body like you have accepted my face. I think I love you. Please don’t leave._

For what seems like an eternity, neither of them move but then Raheem’s other hand comes up to join the other. Erik flinches, ready for a blow but it never comes. Both of Raheem’s hands are still gentle and tentative, covering his heart.

“I already told you, but I’ll keep saying it until you believe me: I’m not going anywhere.”

Erik’s eyes fly open to meet Raheem’s in surprise.

Raheem laughs warmly, and tugs Erik closer.

“Did you think this would horrify me? This is not exclusive to Europe, you know. You are not the only man I have known who is different.”

Erik stares at him.

“I have never known anyone else like me,” he admits quietly.

He is so shocked that Raheem has not fled or hit him that he can do nothing but stare at him. 

Raheem leans forward and presses his forehead to Erik’s masked one, one hand coming up to cup his face.

“I’m sorry for what kind of life you’ve had that made you think I would leave for this,” he whispers with conviction.

And Erik has to kiss him for that.

* * *

They trade lazy kisses back and forth, content in each other’s arms and this time it’s Erik who deepens them, leaning back and pulling Raheem down on top of him.

Raheem’s hands drift toward the hem of Erik’s shirt, an echo of the night of their first kiss.

He pauses and looks at Erik, waiting for permission.

“Y-you first,” Erik stammers.

Raheem grins and sits back on his heels, quickly shedding his shirt.

It’s so easy for Raheem and Erik has to fight to suppress the momentary flair of jealousy.

Something of it must show on his face because Raheem leans forward again and kisses him sweetly, so sweetly. And he keeps kissing him to distract him as his fumbles with the buttons on Erik’s shirt.

As soon as he has the last button open he stops kissing Erik’s face and instead moves to trail a line of kisses down Erik’s newly exposed chest, down to the still healing cut near his hip that Erik had refused to let Raheem treat so recently.

“You are…the most beautiful…man… that I have ever…known,” Raheem whispers between kisses, his hands ghosting over Erik’s ribs.

Erik is sure his heart is about to stop beating.

For a pitiful monster like him, to be seen fully, to be kissed like this, to feel the heat of Raheem’s body against his own, it is too much and he cannot stop the tears from falling as the enormity of it all overwhelms him, sobs shaking his thin frame.

“Oh, Erik! Did I do something wrong? Should I stop?” Raheem sounds terrified he may have hurt Erik as he abandons his kissing.

Erik can’t respond, just presses his hands to his still masked face and shakes his head, tears still falling.

Raheem struggles back into a sitting position, and tentatively gathers the weeping Erik is his arms.

 _Everything else can wait,_ he thinks as he holds Erik and repeats to him over and over:

“I’m here, I’m not leaving. I’m here, I’m not leaving. I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

**Author's Note:**

> As per the historical notes on 'orange blossoms', there was a significant presence of Europeans (particularly English and French) in Tehran during this period, esp at the royal court so European fashions were common that I think Erik is probably wearing something similar to contemporary European fashion  
> A samovar is a Russian device used to boil water and brew tea that was just starting to become more widespread in Iran during this period. Erik's tea drinking habits are a holdover from his time in Russia and Raheem's frustration towards to samovar is a product of being Mazandarani where tea remained uncommon and expensive through at least the 1840s.


End file.
